


Unwind

by princeyuri



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Casual Sex, First Time, Hand Jobs, M/M, Massages, Oral Sex, alistair is nervous
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-21
Updated: 2014-11-21
Packaged: 2018-02-26 13:04:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,040
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2653007
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/princeyuri/pseuds/princeyuri
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alistair, despite his nerves, takes Zevran up on his offer of a "massage". For the purpose of relaxation. And to soothe his sore muscles. Naturally.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Unwind

Zevran had always made Alistair inexplicably nervous. Perhaps it was because of the suspicion that Alistair had initially treated him with, the near hostile path many of their interactions had taken. Perhaps it was Zevran's teasing, flirtatious manner, the way he'd look at you, unwavering, with one eyebrow raised and his mouth curved in a smirk, saying the filthiest things while Alistair grew hotter under the collar than he would ever like to admit.  


Now, in the other man's small tent, Zevran made him more nervous than ever, his arms folded across his chest, covered in a thin, cheap tunic Alistair did not even know he owned. He wore the same teasing expression that never failed to make Alistair's blood broil, whether it be with anger or embarrassment. Often, it was both. He couldn't truly remember how it had ended up this way. There had been conversations about tattoos, which Zevran had made into a tease about a full-body massage. Alistair remembered shifting uncomfortably in his mail, suddenly too warm, and managing few, brave, stupid, stumbled over words. Something about how "his muscles did in fact ache after their last long trek". He had seen the way Zevran's eyes had lit up at that, something dangerous sparking within them as he let out a satisfied chuckle, clearly unfazed.  


"Well," he had started, leaning in closer - too close, with the way the firelight illuminated his comely features, his fair hair painted a bright shade of orange- his voice hushed so that the others could not hear. "You know where I sleep. My tent is always open to those who wish to join me." Alistair could barely believe his ears, his heart pounding rapidly in his chest. Before he knew it, the rest of their party had retired to their own tents, and Alistair was making his way into Zevran's tent, quietly as possible.  


"Undress," the assassin's blunt command snapped Alistair out of his train of thought and back to the situation at hand.  


"Er- what-" Alistair started, all of the bravery and composure he had worked up earlier shattered by the sure, challenging look in Zevran's eyes. He balled his hands into fists at his sides.  


"Surely you don't expect me to sooth your muscles through your tunic! I will need direct contact to work my magic." Zevran insisted.  


"Oh. Yes," Alistair knew this to be true, but still he did not move, until Zevran moved closer and said "Unless you would like me do to it for you?" Alistair jolted back a bit and shook his head.  


"N-no! No, that's- I can do it myself, thank you." Alistair blurted out. He grabbed at the ends of his tunic and pulled it over his head, all too aware of the way the elf's eyes bore into him the whole while. He could feel his cheeks burning. Zevran looked him up and down, as if assessing him. He seemed to decide he approved biting his lip and letting his eyes drift back to Alistair's face.  


"Just the tunic will do," Zevran said, placing a hand on Alistair's bare upper arm that sent tingles through the rest of Alistair's body. "For now," he added, capturing Alistair's gaze. Alistair suppressed a shiver, feeling both too cold and too warm at the same time. Zevran slid his hand unsubtly down Alistair's arm, taking him by the hand and leading him to his cot.  


"I think we will start with your back, hmm? Lie face down," Zevran instructed, and Alistair obeyed, attempting to make himself comfortable.  


"I thought it was my legs that were aching?" Alistair ventured as Zevran rustled around in his things. The other man shushed him, amused, and the cot shifted with his added weight.  


"It will be the lower half we finish with, certainly," Zevran quipped, causing Alistair to jolt when he placed his newly oiled hands on the Warden's shoulder blades. Zevran swung his legs over Alistair, and straddled his back, his weight unfamiliarly warm against Alistair's bare skin. The elf rubbed his palms in light circles on Alistair's back, the oil warming against his tense back.  


"You must relax, my friend," Zevran muttered, not unkindly. "Your muscles must not be tensed, or I will make no progress." Alistair tried his best to relax. It truly was pleasant, and Alistair grew less nervous as he grew more used to the heat of another person so close to him. He was able to relax, to close his eyes and lose himself in the feeling of the dextrous hands and fingers working the soreness out of him, kneading and rubbing so pleasingly.  
It wasn't long before Zevran found the sore spot near his shoulder, and Alistair, inhibitions gone, let out a moan and shifted up into Zevran's hands. "Ah." Zevran made a contemplative noise, breaking his silence and the embarrassment rushed back to Alistair, and he became aware of the weight on his back, Zevran's heat, as well as the result of the heat that had been pooling in his nethers. "On your back, if you will," Zevran said, shifting his weight off of Alistair to allow him to move, though he did not shift completely off of him.   


This way, it was much harder for Alistair. On his back, he felt he couldn't close his eyes. He was positive now that Zevran would discover his hardness. He had to watch as Zevran re-oiled his hands, still straddling Alistair's lower belly. The Antivan caught his gaze, and Alistair saw the slight flush in his cheeks, the way his brown eyes seemed to have darkened, and not only because there was only one small candle lit in the tent. He bit his lip, as the realization that, of course, he was not the only aroused one here sunk in. That was the purpose of this, after all. He knew that, had known from the beginning, yet it still made him feel oddly hot, hips itching to shift, to press against the other man's lithe body.  


But before he could think too hard about it, Zevran was rubbing his shoulders and arms, working out the kinks, making Alistair whimper under him at every sore spot. His hands drifted quickly down, pressing at his collar bones, and then resting under his pecs. When his hands remained still, Alistair opened his eyes, and saw Zevran gazing intently at him.  


"There is still time to return to your own bed, you know," Zevran said carefully. "Let this remain an innocent massage. Dismiss it as relaxation after all your recent stresses. We might never speak of this again." Alistair felt tempted. He had been unsure of this, after all, of the whole thing. But Zevran's fingers hovered lightly above the skin of his bare chest, and he had never felt someone so close, so warm. Alistair shifted upwards and snaked his had-been useless hands up to Zevran's wrists and held them, trying to feel confident despite their slight nervous tremble.  


"No," he said, "No, I want to do this." He was proud of himself for holding Zevran's gaze the whole time, and was more proud still when Zevran smiled at his response, looking more genuine than he had before when dealing with Alistair. "Good," Zevran said, before leaning forward and pressing his lips to Alistair's. Alistair could not stop himself from being surprised, though he tried to kiss back. He had no idea what he was doing. The first kiss ended quickly, and Zevran pulled away to take one more look at his face, before plunging back, opening Alistair's mouth with his own and deepening the kiss.  


They kissed for longer than Alistair would have expected them to, but he wasn't about to complain. It was clear that Zevran was experienced, and his confident actions made Alistair melt. He felt his blood pulsing with arousal under his skin. At first, he had been lost, but Zevran did not seem deterred, and he could soon tell he was adapting, pressing his tongue to Zevran's the same way Zevran's pressed against his. They only stopped once Zevran pressed his fingers down, rubbing into Alistair's nipple. Alistair tilted his head back, letting out a low moan. He'd never thought-  


"I'd say you liked that," Zevran whispered after chuckling lightly. He pinched one, and Alistair's hips stuttered upward, any reply he might once have had lost in a groan. "Mm. Indeed. Eager, are we?" Zevran asked, the corners of his mouth twitching into a smirk, the hint of a laugh still in his voice. His eyes flickered down, and back up again. "You are flushed, even down to your chest," his hands began to travel in a teasing line down Alistair's belly that left sparks of arousal in it's wake. Alistair had never been this hard before, and he could feel himself pressing insistently against the coarse fabric of his breeches.  


"You must be starting to ache quite badly," the man above him teased, pressing his knuckles into the soft skin of his lower belly. Alistair shuddered, and tugged uselessly at Zevran's sleeve, whispering a desperate "please", his voice cracking. Zevran looked at him intensely for just a moment, and then nodded. "Mm." He had seemed to agree, but his hand left Alistair, and instead went to work pulling his own tunic off and flinging it to the ground. Alistair had less time to admire him than he would have liked. His body was light, but toned, his dark skin standing in contrast with Alistair's own pale complexion. His nipples were dark brown. It appeared he had been telling the truth about his tattoos. They exentuated the lines of his body, made him look wild and obscene. Alistair wanted to trace them, with his fingers. Or his tongue.  


It happened quickly, after that. Zevran nipped at Alistair's collar bone, moving down his body, leaving kisses along his chest. When he pressed his tongue to Alistair's nipple, Alistair let out an involuntary desperate whine. His hands undid the fastenings on Alistair's breeches, and one calloused hand grasped Alistair, and began stroking him in slow teasing motions. Alistair drove his hips up, and Zevran bit down lightly on his nipple in response. He thought it might be meant as a reproach, but if so, it did not have the intended effect. Alistair only thrashed and cried out to the Maker. When Zevran looked up at him, his cheeks were as flushed as Alistair's had been when they started this, and his eyes were lidded.  


"I'm going to take you in my mouth," Zevran informed him bluntly.  


"You- What?" Alistair blurted out. He had known it was done, of course, but... He hadn't considered... Zevran's full lips were parted slightly, and Alistair suddenly could not keep his eyes off them.  


"No?" Zevran asked, giving him a squeeze. Alistair gnashed his teeth together at that.  


"I didn't mean- That is-" He had to clear his throat, "I'm not opposed." Zevran chuckled at that and slipped downwards, his bright gold hair glinting in the flickering candlelight as he moved. He pushed Alistair's breeches down to his thighs. Then, he put one hand firmly on Alistair's hip, while the other still grasped Alistair's manhood. Alistair felt incredibly exposed, watching Zevran pump him slowly, staring at him all the while. He wasn't ashamed, not exactly. He knew he was large from communal living with the other young templars, but this was not something he was accustomed to, being looked at quite like this. It gave him a strange thrill, and made his stomach ache strangely with nerves at the same time.  


But his thoughts were interrupted when Zevran pressed his lips to the head of Alistair's cock, soft and full. His hips rolled of their own accord, and he could feel Zevran smile against him as he pressed his tongue to the tip. He thought it felt amazing, Zevran's tongue working against his head while his strong, nimble fingers worked at his shaft, but it only improved once Zevran took him in fully. His mouth was warm and wet, and the sight of Alistair disappearing into his mouth was... astounding.  


After one pass (in which he took him deeper than Alistair would have thought possible), he pulled up and looked at Alistair with dark eyes, and murmured "You are bigger than most I have had, at least in a long while. It might take me a bit to adjust."  


"That's," Alistair had absolutely no idea what to say to that. It made the blood rush to his head and his nethers at the same time, and he felt dizzy. "That is absolutely alright." Even as he said it, he knew he sounded stupid, but Zevran simply said nothing and took him in again, but this time he began to move. The sounds it made were obscene. There was no other word for it. It drove him mad, made his blood run even hotter, if that was even possible at this point. He had to cover his mouth with his arm, biting at his wrist to keep from keening and waking the others in their camp.  


Alistair desperately tried to control himself, to be polite and to keep from thrusting, but he was too inexperienced and Zevran too far the opposite. Zevran, though, didn't appear to mind too much, and let Alistair do as he pleased. Alistair wasn't going to be able to last much longer. He tried to warn him, stuttering out "I can't-"s and "I'm going to-"s, but Zevran did not pull away as he expected, only pressed harder with his deft tongue, and it was too much. Alistair spilled in his mouth, supressing a loud cry that turned into a small "ah, ah, ah" as he covered his face with his arm.  


As soon as he had wound down enough to think and he had caught his breath, he realized Zevran had his back turned to him, spitting into a cloth meant for cleaning his daggers. He felt shame wash over him. How rude could he be?  
"Zevran, I-" He started, "I'm sorry, I meant to warn you, but-" But Zevran only turned back towards him, shushed him, and climbed back onto him, biting feverishly at his jaw. He pressed himself fully against Alistair, and he was even warmer than he had been earlier.  


"I think," Zevran muttered, a bit out of breath, voice deep and hoarse, "you must now return the favor, Warden." To accentuate his words, he rolled his hips up against Alistair, to give the larger man an idea of how hard he was. "It's becoming too _hard_ to bare," Zevran said, voice dripping with mock urgency and sarcasm, but his words still sent a thrill through Alistair. Even so, Alistair didn't know what to do.  


"Do I have to use my mouth?" Alistair inquired quietly, turning to face Zevran. He didn't think he would be able to, though... he supposed he might be willing to try. Zevran made a frustrated noise and grabbed hold of his wrist, leading Alistair's hand to his belly. 

"No, not if you do not wish to. Simply. _Touch me_." Alistair complied, reaching to clumsily undo the ties on Zevran's trousers. He maneuvered himself downwards, pressing kisses to Zevran's chest as he reached and grasped at him. He was thin, long, and very hot against Alistair's palm. Zevran made a hum of approval when he moved his hand, imitating the movements Zevran had used on him earlier. He remembered how Zevran had bitten him when he kissed him, and he attempted to do the same. Zevran gasped. He bit harder, and Zevran rolled his hips sharply.  


"You like that?" Alistair asked quietly. "Yes," Zevran admitted, sounding just short of breathless. Alistair pushed on Zevran's chest with his free hand to allow him more access, and he moved to touch Zevran's nipples curiously, admiring the way they hardened under his touch.  


"Harder," Zevran urged, now rocking his hips up into Alistair's grasp, his hands firm on Alistair's upper arms. In response, Alistair bit down experimentally on Zevran's nipple. Zevran let out a huff of air and reached his hand up to grip at the short, soft hairs at the back of Alistair's neck. Alistair felt triumphant, and pressed his tongue hard against the spot he had bitten. " _Harder_ ," Zevran insisted once more, adding an "If you please, Warden," at the end, and Alistair sped up his hand.  


They continued like that for a while longer, until Zevran's hand in his hair tightened, his hips sputtered and he gasped sharply, spilling his seed onto Alistair's hand. He was sweating as he turned over onto his back, his cheeks flushed and chest subtly heaving. Alistair was able to think clearly enough to reach for the same cloth Zevran had used earlier, cleaning the mess from his palm. He also tucked himself back into his breeches, playing with the string as Zevran sat up to look at him.  


"That was pleasant," he said, and Alistair saw that he was smirking again, already nearly recovered. He lay languidly across his cot, not bothering to lace himself back up. "I am as good as I boast, no?"  


"Yes," Alistair agreed, his voice cracking slightly. He cleared his throat. He realized he hadn't the slightest clue where to go from here without making things unnecessarily complicated, and he felt nervous. He grabbed his tunic and slipped it back on, and the silent appraisal from his companion made Alistair feel the need to run away.  


"I think I'll return to my tent," he said, standing and turning to face Zevran before he fled. "Thank you. My, ah," he paused, "I am much less sore than before. You have been a great help."  


"You are very welcome, my dear friend," Zevran said, his expression unchanging and as difficult for Alistair to read as ever. "I am happy to be of assistance. I would be glad to repeat this whenever you wish." Alistair could feel his cheeks flush, but forced himself to remain calm.  


"Thank you. Goodnight, Zevran," Alistair spluttered, before turning out of the tent, and rushing back to his own before he could be seen, his ears still ringing with the promise of a repeat performance.


End file.
